Dysphoria
by HurricaneAlyse
Summary: It's often those who present themselves as the most optimistic that happen to hide the greatest amount of pain. Grell Sutcliffe is no exception, especially when it concerns his own self-image and the constant wish to be something that he is not. Comfort is a rare commodity, but every second counts when it's offered. Rated T for brief descriptions of blood. Introspective.
Acidic green eyes stared out into the night through the barrier of a pair of glass lenses. They opened and closed slowly, small droplets of saline water beginning to overflow from their edges. The owner of these most telling eyes sniffed and drew his hand up to wipe away the tears as they fell, ashamed and sickened that he was even allowing them to fall in the first place. Oh, if they could only see him now, puffy-eyed and emotionally distraught, a mere echo of the ever-flamboyant creature they all loved to berate and wag their fingers at. What would they say? What would they do? Would any of them even _care?_

Shaking his head with a humorless laugh, Grell Sutcliffe decided that the answer to all of the above was a gigantic, resounding "no." He was willing to bet his entire salary that there wasn't a single reaper in the God-forsaken Dispatch that would give a damn about his feelings. If one of them were to burst in through his front door and witness his distress, they probably wouldn't even think his pain was real. They'd chuckle in a hideously condescending way, saying, "Hah, stop trying to get attention, Sutcliffe. Now you're just trying too damn hard." That was how it would go. That was how it always went. Always.

Grell's crimson painted nails bit into the skin of his palm at the very thought of such an encounter. He supposed it was his own fault that none of them took him seriously, but for the love of all that was holy, he thought that _someone_ would have looked at him long enough to see that his agony, his hurt, and his tears were genuine! He wanted to be angry at them, to throw things and scream about the injustice of the situation, but he couldn't even bring himself to punch one of the many pillows that lay upon his bed. He just sat next to his open bedroom window with his knees drawn up to his chest, crying like a child while a gentle autumn breeze rustled his hair. He repressed a self-deprecating sob. _You're such a pathetic excuse of a being,_ he thought to himself, _you're pathetic and no one is going to try and convince you otherwise._

Turning his blank watery gaze from the starry sky outside, the reaper caught his own reflection in the ornate full-length mirror that sat on the other side of the room. Struck by the pale image it revealed to him, he stood, padding bare-foot across his hardwood floor to stand in front of it.

The supposedly divine being staring back at him from the looking glass wore a silken red bathrobe that was being clutched closed by a single delicate hand. Glasses unique to him sat perfectly on the bridge of his straight nose, shielding irritated and swollen eyes that, though typically lined with kohl and mascara, were almost identical to every other reaper's. His hair hung about his thin shoulders like satin curtains, mussed about from the night wind. With the hand not holding his robe shut, Grell reached out to touch the mirror, fingertips grazing over the image of his face. Overcome by the need to look at himself in his flawed entirety, he let go of his robe and watched it flutter to the floor. With no small amount of difficulty, he returned his phosphorescent gaze to his now-bare likeness in the looking glass, choking back another sob.

He supposed he could almost tolerate himself when he looked as he did when he flounced off to work every day. Putting on his make-up before his shift was, to him, akin to putting on a mask. He could hide behind it, hide behind the person everyone seemed to think he was. Faking his own happiness hadn't been easy at first, of course. He'd had to teach himself the art. After countless near-breakdowns in front of his coworkers, he'd finally perfected it. The façade he donned during work hours was now as flawless as he pretended he was, honed to efficiency from constant use. That Grell he didn't mind so much. It was the one he was staring at in the mirror that he truly hated.

Everything about him was wrong.

The awkward length of his legs. The flatness of his chest. The sharp points of his hips. The awful, hideous organ that identified him as a man whether he wanted to be or not. Even the deceptive, unstable brain that lay inside his head was a source of unending torment.

He hated himself for all of it.

The desire to pick his robe up off the ground, wrap it around himself and pretend that none of it was real was almost overwhelming. It was, after all, what he did every day to cope with the intense self-hatred that permeated nearly every aspect of his life. But here, in his own room without a single soul to interrupt him, he basked in the disgust that he felt towards his own form. He traced over the features of his face with a clawed index finger, smiling with maniacal glee as it left a noticeable scratch on the otherwise unmarred glass.

"You. Are. Disgusting," he said to himself as he drew, sick smile beginning to warp into an animalistic snarl. His own face seemed to mock him, daring him to do something about his spoken opinion. He bared his pointed teeth and growled at the image, the hand at his side beginning to clench into a fist.

"DISGUSTING!" he screamed as he slammed his tightly-closed fist into the looking glass' cold surface. It shattered instantly, countless shimmering pieces falling to the floor. The action split the porcelain skin of his knuckles open and left the tops of his feet riddled with shards of glass, but for the moment, he couldn't have cared less. All that mattered was that he didn't have to look at himself anymore. The red-headed reaper slid to the ground beside the mess, cradling his blood-covered hand to his bare chest. He felt himself on the verge of tears once more, a lump forming in his throat. When they began to fall, he didn't try to stop them. He let them slide down his face and descend to the ground where they sat amongst the broken glass.

"Care to explain what's happening here?" an emotionless, familiar voice asked from somewhere above him.

Surprised that someone had been able to enter his room without his knowledge, even through his emotional outburst, Grell looked up to address his visitor, ready to figuratively (and perhaps _literally_ ) bite their head off. When he realized who it was, his expression softened. He eventually spoke, his voice tremulous and pained.

"I don't even know anymore…"

* * *

William T. Spears turned the key in his office door's lock to the left until he felt the tumblers slide into place, sealing it shut for the night. He sighed heavily, running a pen-weary hand through his short dark-hair. He'd been sitting in that damn office in his damn chair filling out damn soul reports for the last fourteen damn hours, so it was only natural that he was rather tired and just the slightest bit irritated. He checked the elegant watch around his wrist as an afterthought, scowling outwardly when the hands told him that it was nearly one in the morning. He shoved his keys into his pocket, walking out of the Dispatch Office of the Library with a heaviness in his normally clipped and purposeful stride. He could console himself with the fact that the walk to his own apartment in the adjacent section of the colossal building was short, but even such a small difference seemed an eternity when one was exceptionally exhausted.

Will neared his door as the minute hand on his watch was stretching towards the three. With another frustrated sigh, he withdrew his keys from his pocket and searched for the one that belonged to his residence, chewing on the inside of his lip as he did so. He had found it and was about to place it in his own lock when he heard a sharp yell from the apartment next door, punctuated by the distinctive sound of breaking glass. The room's resident was none other than Grell Sutcliffe, and though the red-head rarely ever did _anything_ quietly, Will had never been disturbed by his presence as a neighbor.

The senior reaper's eyes widened exponentially in surprise. Instantly curious and more worried than he'd dare admit to anyone, he walked to the other reaper's door and knocked lightly. When he received no response beyond the muffled sound of sobbing within, he twisted the doorknob and pushed, pleasantly shocked by the fact that it was unlocked.

Grell's apartment was tastefully decorated in various shades of red, and aside from a few dishes left in the sink, completely spotless. Worried curiosity turning slowly into slight panic, Will adjusted his glasses and followed the sound of his employee's crying to his bedroom.

He found the other reaper curled up on the hardwood floor, surrounded by shattered glass and large droplets of quickly drying blood that seemed to stem from the small hand that lay curled close to his body. Sobs wracked the thin man's frame, and Will would have been lying to himself if he were to say that the sight didn't make his stomach churn in fear and worry. This was not the Grell he knew. This was not the Reaper who greeted every day with bubbling laughter and infuriating flirtation attempts. This was a broken creature, and it was not one that he'd ever expected to see. However unnerved and disturbed by the situation he was on the inside, Will didn't dare let the redhead see such things of him. Not yet. He could figure out the root of the problem first, and once that was done, he could allow himself to….comfort Grell? Perhaps. He'd never been very good at comforting _anyone_ , but there was something about the other Reaper that brought out his instinct to protect him, even if he'd end up protecting him from himself. The thought of that alone was enough to make his stoic expression falter even the slightest amount.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Will pushed his glasses up to sit properly on the bridge of his nose and glanced down to Grell, standing close enough to the fallen man to reach out to him if he so desired. For the moment, however, he didn't dare touch him. Grell looked hurt in more ways than one, but even Will wasn't foolish enough to press him. The red Reaper could be incredibly dangerous when he wanted to be, and if he were enduring tumultuous emotions, he may lash out at the nearest individual. Rather safe than sorry, he figured.

"Care to explain what's happening here…?" he asked carefully, measuring out each word so as to not cause Grell any further distress. When the redhead turned towards him with fire in his eyes and a snarl on his full lips, he thought for sure that he'd made a grave error, and withdrew a step to avoid having any of his extremities caught in the beartrap that was Grell's mouth. What he was not expecting, however….was for that snarl to fade, replaced by a defeated visage of utter despair and hopelessness.

"I don't even know anymore," was Grell's soft reply, punctuated by the timely closing of his bright, watery eyes, "Why does it even matter to you, Will? Just go home. It's late. We have work in the morning, and I assure you, I'll be there. This won't change anything."

Will was not sure what scared him more. The indifference in Grell's tone of voice, or the words that he'd said. Even while sitting in a pool of his own blood and shards of glass, naked and hurting, he readily assumed that Will's only concern would be whether or not he'd be keen on showing up to work in the morning. While that may be true under most circumstances, did Grell truly think that he would be so cold as to ignore him when he was clearly suffering? Apparently, he wouldn't even have to ask. It was clear in the way the redheaded Reaper moved, curling in on himself and turning his face away from Will so as to potentially spare himself any reprimand or punishment for showing weakness to his superior. The entire display had Will cringing inwardly, lips forming a thin line as he felt those hesitant movements and cutting words delve straight to the interior of his heart. Perhaps he was not as good at his job as he liked to believe he was. There was more to it than the collection of souls, after all. What sort of boss was he if he could not even convince those under his command that he would be looking out for them?

After a moment's deliberation in which he weighed the consequences of either proving Grell right and walking out the door or choosing to sit by him and offer some form of comfort, he decided upon the latter, even if it would feel much akin to a blow to his carefully-crafted stoic exterior. No one would have to know about this, save for the pair of them. He could sacrifice that much for Grell. Couldn't he….?

"That isn't the reason I asked you to explain yourself, Grell…" he replied as he sat down on the floor beside the other Reaper, carelessly brushing the glass away from him with the swipe of his gloved hand, "I asked because I'm concerned for you. It's not exactly commonplace to find one of my employees naked and bleeding in front of their own mirror, even less so to find _you_ in such a state of distress."

Once again, Grell's reaction surprised him to the point that he nearly found himself stumbling over his words. The red Reaper's eyes snapped open, brows knitting above them in what could only be identified as boiling anger, trembling lips parting slightly to reveal the sharpened ridges of his lethal teeth. His hands balled into fists, causing the injured one to begin bleeding anew, leaving behind a long river of blood along his forearm and chest. Were Will a lesser man, he might have found himself retreating in terror from his companion. However, he remained outwardly unfazed, merely lifting his own dark brow in calm inquiry even as Grell opened his mouth to speak.

"One of your employees. Right. Of course. I've never been any more than that to you, have I? Just one of the many cogs in the machine that you work so tirelessly to run, William- _darling._ What makes this any different than every other time? Is it the tears? The blood? The mirror? What makes you give a damn now when you've never cared before? If this is pity, spare me. I don't need it. I don't want it! Just get OUT. OUT!"

The redhead had effectively pulled away from Will during his short tirade, standing up on shaking legs in order to stare menacingly down at the other man despite the glass that bit into the soft skin of the soles of his feet. Even his nudity seemed to be forgotten in his rage, pale skin on display for Will to see in a way that pulled at his vulnerable heartstrings as opposed to his deeply repressed lust. Grell's thin chest heaved as he fought to keep his anger in check, causing the blood that remained upon his flesh to slide down his abdomen, ending at the junction of his hip and thigh. It was this sight, this vision of the normally flamboyant and excitable creature reduced to a twisted live wire of rage and self-hatred, which caused Will to suddenly question just about every thought he'd ever had about Grell.

What had he been hiding? Why?

Was _this_ who he really was?

Most of all….what did Will view him as? Was he really just another employee?

The truth was almost as disturbing as the falsehood, he quickly began to discover with the longer he watched the other Reaper, eyes wide in shock and realization. Grell was not just another employee. The pair of them had beside one another since the very beginning, when Grell had saved his very existence. Even through the mistakes that he'd made, he'd still been with Will, always there to grin deviously at him and make passes that he knew would be shrugged off with mild irritation. He'd always apologized for his errors, even if it was in his nature to continue to make them as time went on. Much as it may have annoyed him, Will couldn't deny that Grell had been a constant fixture in his life, one that he would miss legitimately if it were suddenly to disappear. He could even go so far as to say that he held a fondness for the crimson-haired Reaper, though he might be loath to admit such a thing. He could no longer afford to pretend that it didn't exist, knowing that Grell might act drastically if he were to ignore it any further. With that thought in mind, he too made to stand, bravely approaching Grell's tense form with his long arms outstretched in what he hoped was a decently placating manner. When the other man did not immediately jump to attack him, Will placed his hands on his thin shoulders, gently pushing back some of his red hair on the tail end of the meaningful motion. For once, it was Grell's turn to be surprised, eyes darting up to Will's softened features in utter disbelief. Before he could speak further, Will managed to find his voice.

"No," he replied simply, meeting the other Reaper's questioning gaze with an infallible one of his own, "This isn't pity. This is my attempt to show you that, as much as I assume a great deal of you, you're assuming no less of me. I genuinely want to know why you cry, Sut—Grell. I want to know why you're hurting. I cannot promise that I'll be able to change your feelings, but….the least I can do is try to gain perspective on what you're feeling. I get the distinct impression that I may be the first to do so."

Grell responded with a wry smile, feet dragging him a step closer to the taller Reaper that held his shoulders so gingerly. So, William was genuinely concerned for him? Well, then. The day seemed to be full of surprises. "Figure that out all on your own, did you….?" Grell asked somewhat bitterly, twisted smile remaining painfully in place until he caught the glimmer of hurt in Will's eyes. With a heavy sigh, he relented, tearing his gaze away from the other man to look at the glittering remains of the mirror that lay scattered about their feet.

"Will…." he began slowly, shoulders sagging slightly, "When you look at me, do you think I'm beautiful? Do you think that I'm worthy of affection and, dare I even say it, lust? Or am I just a mistake? Am I just….wrong?"

Once again, it was the vulnerability and honest pain that coloured Grell's tone that gave Will sincere cause for thought. He hadn't expected such questions to be spoken aloud, but now that they had been, he began to piece together exactly what had gone on and why. This whole ordeal was about his…appearance? Of course. Will had thought nothing of dismissing Grell's constant referral of himself with female pronouns, believing that it was little more than another attempt to garner attention from that infernal demon, or even himself. Judging by the weakened expression on the redhead's features and the broken mirror that coated the floor, he began to gather that there was far more to it than he'd initially understood. Knowing he'd have to choose his words carefully and execute his actions even more so, Will swallowed his pride and let his hands rest upon the gentle curve of Grell's lower back, taking down a mental note of the way that the other Reaper's eyes widened significantly. The gesture was meant to convey comfort, and Will sincerely hoped that Grell didn't put too much thought into it, lest he get the wrong impression.

"I think that this has little to do with me," he muttered in reply after giving Grell a moment to adjust to the slightly awkward display of affection, "I think that these are feelings you have about yourself. You feel that you're not beautiful, that you are 'wrong' for looking as you do, yes? That your body isn't how it should be…"

A few moments of stunned silence greeted William. When Grell spoke, there was an unshakeable overtone of defeat and resignation that carried over his every word.

"It's that obvious, then? Funny, I would have thought you'd continue to ignore it, as you've always done. Have you any idea how much it hurts, Will? To look at yourself and truly hate what you see? No, don't answer that. I'm sure you have, if in a different way. My entire life I've wished that I could be something I'm not, and it never stops being painful…."

There, he paused, looking down at his own body with a look of potent disgust and anger. "I want to be beautiful. I want to be the lady that I know I should be, but…..I can't be. I'm stuck with….with _this_ for the rest of eternity. I hate it, William. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!"

Grell chose then to cut his losses, refusing to question the comfort that was being offered to him, even if it was a bit odd for William. It didn't matter. He wasn't in a place to refuse it, and for once, someone he truly cared about was attempting to care for him in return. Even if it didn't last, even if it was William's way of making sure his employee could function, he didn't care. He needed this. Needed _Will._ He allowed his eyes to close again as his trembling hands clutched the lapels of the taller Reaper's perfectly tailored suit, head tilting forward until his forehead rest lightly against Will's collarbone. In that moment, he could almost believe that everything would be alright, despite knowing that it wouldn't be. William could offer him comfort, but he couldn't change Grell's broken body. He couldn't take away those feelings that permeated every aspect of his life and replace them with confidence and self-love. Part of Grell dared to dream that William might someday find him beautiful despite all of his flaws, but he couldn't bring himself to wish too deeply for such a thing. It was a fleeting dream, little more than a feather caught in the wind. He would tuck that desire away deep down within his heart and mind, only to be brought to the surface when he was in need of a fantasy that would make him feel whole, if only to long for what he knew could never be in the wake of a physical and emotional release. Still, there was no denying that he treasured the way it felt to have Will's hand settle on the back of his head as his tears formed anew, encouraging him to accept what was being so readily being given to him. He leaned into the touch, shivering as the warmth of Will's solid frame replaced the cool air of the room around him.

Will, however….was at a loss. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was nothing he could say that would take away the pain. The scars ran too deep within Grell to be healed by words alone, so in an effort to make more of an impact, Will opted to act. Thus, his hand came to settle on the back of Grell's head, bringing him in closer as his other arm tightened around his back. It was strange, he mused inwardly, to have Grell so close. Under normal circumstances, he'd have assumed that the other Reaper would have given anything to do just this. However, as his clothing became stained with Grell's blood and tears, he began to understand that such things were the furthest thing from the other Reaper's conflicted mind. This was not love. This was not lust. This was not a desperate cry for attention. This was honest and raw, akin to an open wound that William was quickly becoming a tourniquet for. He was a temporary fix to a more pressing problem: a deep gash in his heart that could be mended with time, but very easily reopened by careless words and actions. Silently, William resolved to be more careful around Grell, both in speech and movement. He'd not walk on eggshells, but it wasn't unreasonable to be more conscious of the battle that the red Reaper was fighting with himself. He could tell that Grell had worked hard to build himself up while on duty, and if that was how he felt he had to handle the situation, Will was not going to question it.

Neither could really tell how long they'd stood there in a silent embrace, as both Reapers were equally as lost in thoughtful introspection. For Grell, it was the struggle to accept the comfort as genuine, despite his inability to refute it. For Will, it was the sheer disbelief that he'd managed to miss this side of Grell for so long, if by his own ignorance or Grell's ability to hide his pain from others. In addition, Will began to wonder just when he'd allowed himself to start really caring about his crimson companion. However, much like Grell himself was too afraid of the possibility of rejection to even dare to think of any form of love between them, so too did Will force his feelings away, more afraid of what it might mean for him to be capable of such things. Tonight was not the night to wonder, he determined. No, that would come later, when they were equally ready to face the consequences.

However, the comfortable silence was not to last. William eventually broke their embrace, if only to fish out a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to clean the blood from Grell's porcelain skin, lips forming a nearly invisible smile when he realized that the redhead was not going to object to his careful ministrations. It was only after he'd wiped away the last wayward droplet that he ushered the other Reaper to sit on the edge of his bed. He felt Grell's questioning gaze upon him as he pushed away the glass and picked up the fallen silk robe, taking a moment to shake it out and make sure that there were no shards left clinging to the fabric. He offered it to the shorter Reaper without another word, though the grateful glimmer in Grell's eyes was enough to make his aching heart swell.

"Thank you…." Grell mumbled as he slid the robe back over his shoulders, taking comfort in the security it offered to him as the garment covered up the features of his body that he hated most. Luckily enough for him, his wounds had already begun to knit, existing now as little more than shallow cuts along his knuckles and feet. At least Will had been kind enough to clean off the excess blood. He couldn't abide by stained bedlinens. With a quiet huff, he flopped down upon his pillow and curled his elegant legs up to his chest, securing the crimson comforter over his form not a moment or two later. He fully expected Will to offer him a curt nod as he made his hasty departure, but instead, the taller Reaper continued the pattern of the night and shocked him by moving to sit beside him upon the bed, spine pressed to the expertly-carved wooden headboard. Still, he said nothing, though he'd begun to soothingly run his now-bare fingers through the soft strands of Grell's ruby tresses. When had William shed his gloves? Hmph.

The last thing that Grell could recall before utter exhaustion claimed him was the sensation of soft lips pressed to his cool forehead, and the muttering of reassuring words against the shell of his ear. Sleep encroached upon him too quickly for him to determine exactly what had been said to him, but somehow, some way, he managed to catch the syllables of one word and one word only: _Beautiful._

For now….that was more than enough for him.

A/N: Well, that was exciting! I absolutely love these two characters. I feel like Grell's honest feelings and William's compassion get ignored a lot in favour of the more light-hearted aspects of each character, but every time I look at them, I see so much more. Anyways, this was just a little thing that kind of helped me get to know them better, and to explore what I think might be going on beneath the surface. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
